


Of Those Who Don't Belong

by Nickidemus



Category: Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickidemus/pseuds/Nickidemus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Metropolis, a woman stumbles across a man in distress. She's compelled to help him and to know him. He says his name is Jor-El...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“World’s changed so fast,” Tricia said. “What’s it been, months? Since Superman showed up, I mean. Already everything’s so different.” From the café where she and Rebecca were seated at an outdoor table, her eyes cut across the street to a building that looked brand new, one that had contained about as much history as a building in America could before a super fight had leveled it. 

Rebecca turned to follow her gaze and nodded in agreement before turning back. “It’s kind of exciting,” she offered. “In a… bad way. That way of someone cursing you to live an interesting life. Metropolis was never an easy place to live. I’m… trying to convince you once again not to move away. Can you tell?” 

“You’re being pretty obvious,” Tricia snorted. 

“Maybe because I don’t want to be alone in this place,” Rebecca murmured down at her coffee, cradling it in her hands. “And I’m not ready to throw in the towel myself. Finding jobs is hard these days, and I don’t want to give up my position at the firm. Even if I am just the chick that files stuff.” 

“The girl who I had to practically tie to a chair to keep her from running out into the rubble helping the firefighters is scared of a job search?” Tricia asked. 

Rebecca had to laugh at that. “More scared of failing at life than of a chunk of a building falling on me. Yeah, pretty sure that doesn’t make sense, but there it is. Maybe that’s what I should do. Go be a firefighter. Or a nurse. Or an actual lawyer instead of the assistant to one. Starting to feel all that regret washing over me again for dropping out of college.” 

“You and I’m sure some outrageous statistic of average Americans,” Tricia said. The joke fell flat as Tricia’s tone drifted off. She was gazing out past Rebecca’s shoulder again, this time with the look in her eyes changing in such a fundamental way that Rebecca felt panic slice into her chest. 

She turned in time to see a man only a few feet away on one knee. She heard him now above the usual, city din, panting and struggling with something internal. A heart attack? He was looking at his hands. Then up at the sky. He strained and looked away and couldn’t seem to look anywhere that helped or soothed. His hand went to the side of his head, then both over his ears. His distress was impossible to ignore finally as he growled, curled up with his eyes squeezed shut, and trembled. 

Rebecca was up so quickly her chair flipped. As she moved to him, she extended her hand at Tricia and ordered, “call an ambulance.” 

Tricia’s reply was, “are you crazy? Look at his clothes. He could’ve escaped from a mental hospital.” 

He was wearing scrubs and slippers, and Tricia could’ve been right. Rebecca couldn’t take the chance that he needed help, that he might die right in front of her, and she’d be left asking herself how she could let that happen. She was scared. Of course she was. She was a fragile human in a world that housed a Superman and his enemies, and despite how Tricia wanted to make her feel, she wasn’t stupid in that regard. But she believed fundamentally that the moment they won was the moment you backed down. 

She was careful as she crouched before him, speaking first. “Can you hear me?” She’d heard that’s what you’re supposed to ask, to find out what kind of condition the person was in. If they answered, could answer, that could dispel some worry right there. But he was so wound tight within himself, she wasn’t sure he heard. And more and more she was seeing this wasn’t a normal sort of episode. 

“Hey,” more softly and inquisitively now, her hand touching his shoulder. He flinched. Just surprised, she figured. “Can you hear me? Tell me what’s wrong.” 

He lifted his head, and it appeared to be an effort. He squinted as he opened his eyes, jerking his head away at whatever he saw. “I can… see too much. The world is so… loud.” 

“Oh Jesus,” Tricia groaned over her shoulder. 

“Did you call them?” was her only response, still watching the man as he struggled not to cry out in pain. 

“They’re on the way,” Tricia said. “Maybe just don’t get so close to him and wait?” 

Rebecca didn’t listen, her focus entirely on him. “Can you listen to me?” she asked. “Whatever’s so loud, tune it out. This city is a big, loud mess, and I know it. You have to let it all be background noise. Like when a song comes on the radio that you don’t like. Change the channel. Just listen to me. Pretend it’s you and me in a quiet room. We’re just talking. Catching up like old friends.” 

She was babbling. She knew it. But he was breathing more evenly, a good sign if ever there was one. She couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face when he looked at her, though he seemed bewildered and exhausted. Her hand went to stroke his hair, as if soothing a stray dog she’d found wandering and wounded. 

“Better?” she asked. “Don’t worry. We’ve got people coming to help you. You need to hold on a couple minutes, that’s all.” 

He swallowed dryly and nodded. “They’ll… take me back, won’t they?” 

Her smile grew sad then. “Yeah, sweetie, they will.” Though she was assuming a lot about exactly what he meant. “What’s your name? Hmm?” 

“Jor-El,” he answered. 

“That’s an interesting name,” she said. “Mine’s Rebecca.” 

“Oh, don’t tell him your damn name…” Tricia huffed behind her. 

“That’s beautiful,” he said, his eyes almost lively, but he was so tired and it seemed to seep from every pore. “I’m sorry. I thought… I didn’t realize I’d be causing trouble like this. I thought I could walk away. I had no idea this world’s sun was so powerful that it would cripple me. I always imagined it would be nourishing for Kal-El, not draining, not terrifying. I’ve not given him the chance he deserved to explain these things to me. I’ve been foolish.” 

Rebecca was mesmerized by this, barely understanding other than remembering that Kal-El was Superman’s name. The one that Zod guy had asked for when all this started. She wondered if this was like believing you’re Napoleon, a new complex for a new age, and simply nodded as if she understood. 

“I can hear sirens.” Tricia sounded pretty relieved. 

“You’re going to be all right,” Rebecca said to him. “Whatever’s happening to you, you’ll get help.” 

“It was I who told Kal-El that humanity was worth his efforts,” he said. “That we could coexist. I see now how right I was. You are kind.” 

Rebecca blushed and felt insanely stupid for it. “Thank you,” she said, though it came out half question. “That’s sweet.” She laughed then. What was this, a first date? Most awkward first date ever. 

The siren was so close then that he shouted and doubled over, Rebecca starting at the suddenness of it. Like she’d said, she tended to drown out background noise she didn’t want to hear. Her arm went around him, rubbing his back, murmuring to him, “it’s okay. It’s okay. Hey, don’t be afraid. They’re here to help you. Be calm…” 

They moved to take him then, in a hurry as paramedics would be, and he looked near to lashing out in a panic. Tensely, he visibly made another choice and rose as well as he could on legs that would barely hold him. He walked with them to the ambulance, climbing in back. Before they could close the doors, he said, “thank you, Rebecca of House… what is your house?” 

“What?” she asked with a little smile. “My house?” 

“I am of House El,” he explained. “What is yours?” 

“My last name?” she asked. “Tourney. Rebecca Tourney.” 

Tricia groaned. 

“Thank you, Rebecca of House Tourney,” he murmured, and then he was shut off from her, barely seeing him through the small window. 

“And he knows your last name,” Tricia said. “Just… get a deadbolt on your apartment door or something. Please? For my sake?” 

Rebecca ignored her, wondering how you looked up a guy in the hospital who went by “Jor-El.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I know you can’t tell me anything specific,” Rebecca said, leaning over the nurse’s station as if willing the woman she was badgering to stop paying more attention to other people around them than her. “I only want to know if he’s okay. That’s it.” 

“I told you,” the nurse replied, “we don’t have a Jor-El.” 

“That can’t be his name,” Rebecca said. “I can bet you it isn’t. All I said was that he called himself Jor-El. Nobody remembers a wacky guy having a some kind of psychological event who thought he was Kryptonian? I’m honestly shocked no one recalls that. Not one doctor had a chuckle?” 

“Miss.” That tone, that glare, the nurse barely restraining herself from standing and pointing an unwavering finger at the exit sign. “I don’t know. And I don’t have time to hop around the hospital, asking if someone absolutely hilarious came through the ER. And you better not either.” 

“Tell me who to talk to.” She was pleading now. “Say a name. I’ll get out of your hair.” 

“You said he was from Krypton?” 

It was Rebecca’s turn to be exasperated. “I said—”

“Lois Lane seems to be the local expert,” the nurse quipped with a smirk. “Talk to her.” 

Rebecca’s eyes brightened. She knew she was being made fun of, but screw it. “You know what? I will.” 

* * * * *

As soon as she stepped out of the elevator, Rebecca got the impression that The Daily Planet was the sort of office that thrived on well-ordered madness. The firm she worked for wasn’t always like that, but she had enough experience with the concept to know how to move and when so she wouldn’t get underfoot. 

She wove through rushing people and cubicles until she spotted the nameplate she wanted. “Lois Lane?” 

An auburn head snapped her way, eyes alert, a smile ready on her lips. “Yes?” 

“Do you have time to hear a story that…?” Rebecca groaned, wondering if she’d made the right move here, if she was going slowly out of her mind and bothering this woman was a symptom. “I’m not sure it’ll be anything to you, that you’ll care, but I need some help. I’m trying to find someone, and I can’t seem to track him down.” 

Lois gave her a smile that was more tender this time and gestured vaguely. “Pull up a chair.” 

Rebecca gave a relieved laugh at that and did as she was told. “So… start at the beginning?” 

“I find that’s usually the best place,” Lois agreed. 

Rebecca related her encounter, watching Lois’s poker face tighten when she mentioned Krypton. It tightened even further to the point of cracking when she gave the name her stranger had, in Rebecca’s mind, given himself. 

“Can I ask you something a little strange?” Lois asked. 

“I just told you something a little strange,” Rebecca smiled. “I think you’re obligated to.” 

“What did he look like?” Her voice was soft, almost afraid. Or awed? Hopeful? Rebecca couldn’t seem to place what sort of emotion that was, especially when she didn’t see why Lois would care. 

“He had blue eyes,” Rebecca said, and there was a rush of heat to her cheeks. Of course that’s what she’d remember first and foremost. “Brown hair. Shaggy. He had kind of a beard. Kind of scruffy. He wasn’t… bad looking. Not badly built either. Which I’ve thought about that. How does that happen? A guy from a mental asylum wouldn’t be… buff, right? It’s not like prison. They don’t work out. But I think the weirdest thing was his voice. He had an accent, like he was from across the pond. And I wondered how a guy from Britain ends up in a mental hospital in Metropolis. I mean, that was Tricia’s pet theory anyway. She delighted in terrifying me over my choice to help him.” 

Lois looked pale, and Rebecca was noticing. “Did I say something horribly wrong?” 

“I need to make some calls,” Lois said, rising with her iPhone in hand. “Give me about fifteen minutes. Don’t go anywhere. Okay?” 

Rebecca nodded as Lois disappeared. 

* * * * *

Lois snagged Clark on the way back to his desk, choosing not to question the fact that he let her drag him to the employee lounge, which was blessedly empty. 

“We need to talk,” Lois told him, not with force but rather a tone laced with concern. 

“What did I do?” Clark asked, eyes wide. 

Then she had to smile, all that frantic tension melting. “I’m not sure yet. That’s why we need to talk. I have someone waiting in my ‘office’—” She even made the air quotes to denote she understood a cubicle was hardly an office. “—Who claims she met a man referring to himself as Jor-El. He had a fit that sounds a lot like a Kryptonian being exposed to our yellow sun for the first time. And she hasn’t been able to track him down in any hospital. The description she gave me is him. Your father. Is this… meaning anything to you?” 

Clark’s head dipped as he moved to the nearest wall and leaned back against it, arms crossed over his broad chest. “I know.” 

Lois’s brow furrowed considerably. “You know?” 

“He’s been cloned,” Clark sighed. “I was told after the fact. I’ve seen him. I’ve talked to him briefly. He wouldn’t let me speak to him for very long. Afraid I would influence him, I imagine. He was showing me he has all the cards. That was the purpose of it.” 

“He?” Lois prompted. 

“Senator Luthor,” Clark answered. “He’s never liked the idea of a Superman. He’s toying with me now. I’m not sure what he hopes to gain. Maybe a Superman of his own that he can control, one that would particularly hurt me as… he is my father. Down to the last molecule. Or maybe he’s trying to goad me into acting against him, so that he can show what a menace Superman really is.” 

“Oh God, Clark,” Lois huffed, out of breath, absorbing as best she could. “Why didn’t you…?” 

“Punch his lights out and rescue my father?” Clark paused. This was his least favorite part. “Luthor has something… new. Kryptonite. Radioactive shards of my home planet. They’re lethal to me. By extension, they would be lethal to my father even if he was beginning to show signs of having powers. If I made any attempt, he could kill us both. Likely he’d kill my father first to cause me the most pain possible.” His voice dropped. “Even being near it made me feel like I was dying. He’s made bullets.”

Lois was quiet, the absurd hum of the refrigerator in the corner the only sound between them. “We can’t leave him there.” 

“I know,” Clark said. “I don’t want to leave him. But I haven’t come up with a way that doesn’t involve charging in headlong and… dying. I’m not sneaky, Lois, I’m a battering ram.” 

Lois squinted at him. “Superman is a battering ram. Clark is sneaky.” She waved a hand then, dismissing this thought. “You know who’s even sneakier? Lois Lane.” 

“No,” he said at once. “That is not going to happen.” 

“Lois Lane wants an exclusive interview with Senator Lex Luthor,” she said. “How could he refuse?” 

“He knows you have a connection to me,” he said. “He wouldn’t trust you for a second.” 

“That’s why I’ll bring in my partner,” she said. 

“Partner.” He sounded particularly lost. 

“I think Rebecca would be game,” Lois said. “I can guarantee it. He wouldn’t suspect her.” 

“Lois—”

She crossed to him and took his hand. She squeezed as tight as she could, her eyes meeting his in a way that made him unable to deny how strongly she felt. “Let me help you. Let me save Superman this one time. It’s not like I don’t owe you a thousand favors.” 

“You don’t owe me anything,” he murmured. 

She smirked. “Okay, I can play semantics. Let me show you that you’re not alone. Not every fight has to be solo.” 

“This will be that one time,” he said, “when Superman can’t save you. If you get caught, chances are high neither of us will make it.” 

“If I don’t try, you might die anyway,” she said. “I know you. You’ll try to rescue him. All I ask is we try it my way. A safer way. Trust me?” 

He had trusted humanity and been given Lex Luthor. But he had to remind himself he’d been given Lois first. He nodded. “Okay.” 

* * * * *

_He could feel the blade entering him and ruining the last, triumphant moment he’d ever have. Even then his own death seemed so small, though the pain was great. He willed the small ship higher, higher, watching for it as his eyes dimmed, as he fell. Let the drive send him far, let it engage soon, let his son live…_

Jor-El kicked awake with a gasp, one hand against his chest and the other at the side of his face. He was soaked in sweat and catching his breath in great gulps. What he’d just been through made the presence of the eerie figure in his room seem paltry in comparison. It took him a moment, but he realized who it was, the shadow of that dome of a head. It could only be one person. 

“Flashbulb memory,” the shadow said. 

“What?” Jor-El breathed in return. He could’ve grasped it if he were calmer. 

“Your death that you keep dreaming of,” Luthor said as he walked into the light. “We didn’t implant that. It wasn’t there to implant. So flashbulb memory.” He shrugged. 

“I’m not entirely sure that’s how it works,” Jor-El said, his voice rough as he reached for water by the bedside. “Generally flashbulb memory is a phenomenon that involves something you clearly recall experiencing. While it’s an emotional response to something traumatic often enough, it’s triggered. Nightmares drawn from a memory I shouldn’t have… You don’t appear to actually have an answer for that.” 

“Then consider yourself a pioneer in redefining the physiology of the brain and its capabilities,” Luthor purred. “You are our first undead clone, after all. I can tell you’ve been doing more reading.” 

“You sound threatened,” Jor-El said, his eyes cutting to Luthor. 

“I think you want me to sound threatened,” Luthor said. He crossed to a chair by Jor-El’s bed and sat, legs crossed, hands folded atop his knees. “You’re a brilliant man; there’s no doubting it. You could well rival me. But threatened? No, interested. Here’s how a true genius works, Jor-El. Whatever it is you know could only continue to benefit me.” 

“I actually believe that’s how pride works,” Jor-El snorted. “I’d know something about that. It’s the reason I don’t have a home planet.” 

“Said the man who died on the cinder,” Luthor noted with a self-satisfied smile. 

“I sent the best of us to flourish instead,” Jor-El said. “I cannot make you understand that, because that would require you understand self-sacrifice and the greater good. Brilliance is wasted on a man like you. You managed to properly isolate the Codex, decipher Kal-El’s DNA and unwind it, and salvage my computer-stored memories from a ship that was half melted. And for what? So we could sit in the middle of the night and argue over the significance of my nightmares? So you could snipe at my intellect as if your own was so much greater?” 

“I struck a nerve,” Luthor chuckled. “Clearly you take your learnedness very seriously.” 

Jor-El tilted his head back, eyes closed, containing himself. “I only want to be treated with dignity. Which involves not being a prisoner.” 

“You need my help,” Luthor said, and he sounded quite satisfied about the fact. “You can’t control your powers. That spell you had was not the sort of thing that gives me confidence in you wandering free, Jor-El. All _I_ want is patience.” 

“I’ve met your kind,” Jor-El said, shaking his head. “In regards to what you want, ‘all’ is a word that would likely suffice.” 

Luthor wagged a finger at him as he rose. “Smart man.” Then turned to exit. “Smart, smart man.” And sealed the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

A girl who introduced herself as Jenny got Rebecca a cup of coffee and assured her Lois would be back. If she said she’d be back, she’d be back. But… don’t be surprised if fifteen minutes turned into a half hour. Jenny complimented Rebecca’s hair, saying she wished she was brave enough to have hers cut that short, saying Rebecca was pretty enough to have the face for a pixie cut. Jenny seemed a tad on the nervous side but genuine. Sweet. Just what Rebecca needed while she waited on pins and needles. Random compliments didn’t hurt either.

“Did you bring in a scoop for our star reporter?” Jenny asked. 

“It was more just a personal mystery I thought she could help me with,” Rebecca said. “Maybe I accidentally scooped. I don’t know. I think I scared the pants off of her.” 

Jenny pulled a face. “Lois? No way. You probably enlivened her spirit of adventure. Trust me, she’ll come back in here with all kinds of energy to burn. You’re in good hands, Rebecca.” 

As if that were Lois's cue, she came up beside Rebecca with a warm hand on her shoulder. "How about we grab some lunch?" 

Rebecca glanced between Lois and Jenny and back again, sounding uncertain even as she answered, "yeah, sure." 

Lois grabbed her coat and purse, asking, "what do you like? There's a sandwich place that's not too far from the office. I usually go there if only for convenience's sake." 

"That sounds fine," Rebecca said as she followed to the elevator. 

Lois continued the small talk, none of it sounding particularly forced even though Rebecca felt kind of surreal. She'd told this woman she was looking for a man, said woman goes to make some calls, and now they're having lunch. Yet the conversation flow was apparently not strange at all to Lois, a people person if there ever was one. It was no wonder people dumped their life stories in her interviews. She almost demanded it. 

They arrived at the sandwich shop, and Lois guided them to a table. The waitress was prompt in taking their orders, leaving Lois to heave a small sigh once they were alone. 

"I'm sorry if that seemed weird," Lois said. "I'm sure it did, but we needed to be alone. It's going to get slightly weirder. The first thing I need to ask, and you need to be as serious as you've ever been in your life when you answer, is this: are you prepared to keep this to yourself, no matter what happens and no matter who asks?" 

"What is happening?" Rebecca asked, flat and tense. 

"We'll get to that when you answer me," Lois said. "Or… we won't. Again, you need to be ready for anything right now." 

Rebecca took a deep breath. "Well, that's sucker bait," she gusted back out. "I can't resist that. But… I get what you're saying. I can't mess around. This is dangerous. It's big. I accept that. I'm surprised by being a tiny bit unnerved, but let's go." 

Lois searched her eyes then nodded. "All right. Next thing. Are you prepared to follow me and trust that I know what I'm talking about? Are you ready to take this seriously? Things could get dangerous, and I need to know what kind of person you are when it comes to risk." 

Rebecca chewed her lower lip, saying nothing as the waitress came by and put diet sodas in front of both of them. She waited until after taking a sip to ask, "he's in trouble, isn't he?" 

Lois softened at that. "Let's focus. If things get bad, how is it going to be for you? Tell me." 

"What kind of reporter are you?" Rebecca snorted. "That's the weirdest question in the history of questions." She sighed, stirring her drink with the straw. "Honestly? The boast-sounding answer? If he's in trouble and needs help, I don't care what happens to me. Before you even say it, I know I don't know him. He's a stranger to me. But if there is actually something I can do, I want to do it. If… I were about to be hit by a car, let's say, I'd be scared. Of course I would. If I were about to be hit because I pushed someone else out of the way, I wonder if I'd even feel it." 

"That should sound really virtuous, but it sort of scares me," Lois said. "Am I going to have to worry about you taking some pointless risk?" 

"Tricia worries," Rebecca said, smirking humorlessly. "Just know I'll always do what it takes. That's what you asked; that's what I'm telling you." 

"Fair enough," Lois said. "I'm satisfied. As satisfied as I'm going to get at any rate. This is the part where things get truly out of this world." 

Their sandwiches came then, and Rebecca could've punched the waitress for the simple sin of ill-timing. When she was gone, she didn't touch her food but rather rolled her hand at Lois, the signal for her to get on with it. 

"The man you encountered was not insane," Lois began. "He was exactly who he said. Jor-El of Krypton. Who also just so happens to be… Superman's father." 

The light that went on for Rebecca was practically visible above her head as her eyes widened and she sat up straighter. "That's who you were talking to. Those 'calls' you had to make. You were talking to Superman." She furrowed her brow. "Superman has a cell phone?" 

Lois was trying not to grin. "Focus, Rebecca. Yes, I was talking to Superman. More I was telling him what I'd found out, wondering if this would be news to him at all. His father is supposed to be dead, not wandering around Metropolis. And… he knew what was going on, because this is all the work of someone… very bad. Someone directly threatening Superman and, by extension, his family. Someone who now has the power to kill both Superman and his father, even though Jor-El is now exhibiting powers. What you witnessed in the street was Jor-El struggling with those powers. Whenever a Kryptonian experiences earth's sun for the first time, they go into a… sensory overload." 

"Okay, following," Rebecca said. "Sort of. It's a lot to take in." 

"I know," Lois said. "I'm trying not to overwhelm you, but I'm worried time is a factor at this point. We don't know what the motive for cloning Jor-El was in the first place, so there's no way of knowing how it will end. It could be fatal for everyone involved." 

"Who is it?" Rebecca asked. "Who's doing this?" 

Lois gave Rebecca a look that seemed to reek of the knowledge she wouldn't be believed. "Senator Lex Luthor." 

Rebecca was very still, expressionless, staring at Lois. A slow smile crept over her face, but deep in her eyes was unmistakable anger. "Ha ha. You've had your fun. You almost had me. I'll give you that much." She stood then, her face beet red as she made a beeline for the door. Over her shoulder she called, "thanks for the sandwich!" 

Lois was up and after her, waving at the man behind the counter, trying to indicate without words she'd be back to pay. They knew her, so she received an amiable wave back as she darted out onto the sidewalk. 

"Rebecca!" she called, chasing after her, catching up even though Rebecca moved in a determined speed walk. "It's not a joke. I'm not jerking you around. I'm serious. I don't get my jollies by making a sincere woman with a real problem feel stupid. Please. Slow down." 

Rebecca stopped dead, causing Lois to skid and trip at the unexpectedness of it. 

Lois gathered up her dignity and turned to her. "I know how it sounds. You don't know what I do, because it doesn't go in the paper. Much to everyone's chagrin, because the reason is not what you think. We don't get hush money. Nothing quite so glamorous. He could destroy us. It's that simple. And we know it. Me, I'd rather be destroyed than keep quiet about what he's really like. But even when I'm feeling heroic… Whenever we manage to get a source, they disappear. He's quite the magician that way." 

Listening for every cue and watching every tic, Rebecca wilted. "You're telling the truth about this." 

"Again I didn't invite you to lunch to embarrass you," Lois said. "I know what you're doing, and I wouldn't want to hurt you. You want to know. Because you have to know. Only a handful of months ago, I was you. I met someone who couldn't possibly be, and I was drawn." 

"It's… not quite like that," Rebecca murmured, looking away. 

"It's exactly like that," Lois said. "He didn't seem crazy to you, did he? He seemed sincere. Otherwise why would you keep acting like Tricia was overreacting, wrong about him? Why would you track him down so tenaciously? Because some piece of the puzzle didn't quite fit. To top it all off, he was in distress. From what you've told me, you can't stand that. You had to know. Rebecca, I am the queen of 'have to know'. I can tell when I see it." 

"Are you done psychoanalyzing me?" Rebecca asked. 

"Was her admission of guilt," Lois said, playfully triumphant. 

Rebecca laughed, the tension released the moment the sound left her. "Okay, fine. Now the question becomes: how do you fight city hall? Senator Luthor has Superman's dad. He's being all nefarious. What do the plucky reporter and her sidekick do about it?" 

"All you have to do is take some pictures." 

* * * * *

Jor-El could see them through the wall. This was the time everyday when they changed guards at his door. They would chat idly for around five minutes, give or take. He could hear them talking about their families, which meant when he made his move, he’d never be able to kill these men, no matter who they worked for. The best way to then approach the situation was to wait for one or both of them to make a mistake. Given the law of averages, it was bound to happen. 

The weapons they carried held the mineral Luthor had discovered. More and more Jor-El believed that Luthor’s successes were a mix of intellect and pure luck. No man could have found so many perfect components as he had unless the stars had been aligned in his favor. The Kryptonite, as Luthor had dubbed it, being one of the most fortuitous. This same mineral kept Jor-El waiting, not wanting to get too close to those guns even when they were idle. 

He hadn’t spent much time in the sun, but enough that he was greedily clinging to the strength it afforded him, not wanting to waste an ounce of it. He had honed his control to this point, and it was Rebecca Tourney’s simple wisdom he kept recalling. To focus. To concentrate. To change the station when he didn’t like the song. He wondered if she had known how helpful she was being, how she’d gotten to the heart of it. He wondered if she understood how her kind hand was turning the tide for him. 

He padded softly toward the door, hearing the conversation turn toward coffee. The one who was about to start his shift going for a cup, asking for a moment until he returned. The other following him halfway down the hall because he wanted to finish telling a joke. His heart sped up. This was it. 

He drew inward again and cut off his view of the guards. He wanted all his power centered on this one task now. No distractions. No songs he didn’t want to hear, as Rebecca had told him. He took a moment to steady himself, inhale, then thrust his fist out and dented the steel door. Not quite as potent as he’d hoped. He punched out again with the opposite hand, the dent becoming a tear. Then faster than the eye could see with the first fist, grappling with the ridged crack and wrenching it open. 

Half the door clanged into the hallway as a siren shrieked. Red light strobed as he ran down the hall, putting on an intense amount of speed. The object was not to fight. They had weapons that he was no match for. Run. That had to be his goal, escape. 

He reached a wall and slammed into it with all the force his momentum and strength combined would allow. He was nearly through when he heard a gunshot. He snapped around and felt his energy drain so quickly it brought him to his knees. He went from feeling like he could take on the world to an invalid within seconds. He only just held himself up from the floor, a stream of blood dripping from one nostril. 

The siren quieted. The strobing ceased. “I intentionally missed,” Luthor said. His shoes clicked in the silence as he approached. There was a hole in the wall where the Kryptonite bullet had wedged itself, right by Jor-El’s hip. “Imagine how it would feel if this had struck you, Jor-El. I want you to really ponder that.” 

Jor-El raised his head and licked the blood from his upper lip. “I will keep trying to escape, Luthor. And eventually I will succeed.” 

“And when you do, so on and so forth,” Luthor said. He knelt and pushed the barrel of the gun beneath Jor-El’s chin, grinning when Jor-El winced and struggled to catch his breath. “I’ve been generous to you. I’ve been kind. You’re going to see how cruel I can be now. You brought this on yourself.”

“You can’t win,” Jor-El wheezed. 

“Why not?” Luthor asked and didn’t await an answer. He stood and gestured with his gun toward Jor-El as two, somewhat sheepish guards came upon them. “Since he’s destroyed the door to his room, take him to another. This one with considerably less furniture.”


	4. Chapter 4

Truth be told, Rebecca wasn't quite sure she was past the "Jor-El is his real name, and he's really from Krypton" phase of their conversation when they were already going over the game plan. She understood asking a thousand questions wasn't going to be conducive to Jor-El's rescue, but she had a thousand questions. Most of them were likely things Lois couldn't answer. She got the feeling she was told everything, and it was all so thin and barely holding itself together. 

Like what was Luthor's deal? Why did he care so much? How can this really be THE Jor-El if he's a clone? How do mortal women save super men? That last one was especially haunting. Not because she might die, though that did create a chill, as if wind had entered the room without her knowing. More because she would fail. It was already written, she felt, that Luthor couldn't be fooled or duped. That he wouldn't bend. And could they go so far as to break him? What if it came to that? 

Mostly she tried not to bang her head against the wall. Because she had let Jor-El be taken back to his captor. She saw it now. He'd tried to make a break for it, couldn't because the sudden advent of powers he couldn't control was making him sick, and she'd let him go. She wished now she'd done the thing that would've made Tricia's head explode and invited him home with her, taken care of him herself, not trusted anyone else with the task. The way he'd asked her if he would have to go back… Speaking of being sick, that's how she felt every time it entered her mind. 

She comforted herself in insisting she couldn't have known, and that was true. There was no way she could've known what was really happening, but the guilt still weighed heavy. So much so that she barely slept that night, awaiting the next day's appointment with Luthor. 

* * * * *

"Lois Lane." Luthor extended his hand. "A pleasure, as always." 

"Yes," Lois said, and Rebecca was amazed that her smile didn't crack as she took Luthor's hand and shook. "That last event you held was quite a spectacle. You take environmentalism very seriously, spending that kind of money." 

"And I hope your article will continue to reflect my character in such a way," he said, grinning. Rebecca didn’t want to read between the lines, but it was difficult to avoid. 

His attention turned to her, and she tried not to shrink. She was sure she would find that hard even if she'd not known his true nature. He seemed to dissect everything he looked at, his eyes keen and knowing. He extended his hand to her now. "New to The Planet?" 

Rebecca tried not to skip a beat as she took his hand, large and warm and engulfing hers. "Yes," she answered with a bright smile. 

"Miss Lane is showing you a great deal of favor, letting a new photographer on an important assignment like this," he noted. 

"Don't sell me short so soon," Rebecca said, and it was an effort to keep her voice light. 

"Ha!" It came out like a bark. "I know it's almost written in the businessman's handbook that I should like spunk, but I really do. Tigers and sharks eat far better than timid sorts. It's simple biology really." 

He'd met them in the lobby and led them to the executive elevator, sending them hurtling up to his office in a ride so smooth it barely registered. Everything was glass and metal, sleek and stark. Off-white and gunmetal gray. Vast. The spacious office looked over an intense view of Metropolis, the other buildings beneath Luthor's gaze from where they stood. On top of the world. 

Rebecca felt her stomach flip and braced herself. She'd never felt trapped like this before. Watching him pocket the key to his elevator seemed to solidify those feelings as justified, but she took her cues from Lois. Rebecca had been accused of taking risks, foolish ones, but watching Lois, she thought she was watching a true master at work. She refused fear, wore her facade so well it looked downright real. Rebecca envied her for a brief moment, as she'd imagined herself to be more like that than she was. Then she forgot envy and was instead grateful to be with Lois and not alone in this monster's cage. 

“Shall we begin?” Luthor asked. He circled his desk and took a seat in a high-backed leather chair. He gestured to the chairs before him, and Lois sat. Rebecca remembered her role and snapped a picture, then took the chair to Lois’s left. 

* * * * *

Jor-El thought he might be underground. It was hard to say. He knew he’d been moved down. From the executive suite of prison cells to the dungeon. From a room with a bed and a table to eat at and a computer (with no link out, proving Luthor knew better) for his personal use, to a room with none of these things. With barely the amenities needed to seem more than an animal during his stay. 

The Kryptonite had weakened him, but it hadn’t drained him entirely. His strength and speed were spent, and he found he needed a lot of rest. But that noise that was so hard to drown out was still there, the noise of the entire world crashing in on him. If he strained, he could still see through the walls, but it was a feat as these were far thicker. 

Here, there was nothing to keep his thoughts from wandering. Mainly they went to Lara, and all that tireless research about earth he’d obsessed about before his computer was taken away seemed to make far too much sense. He had been staying busy. He’d fought grief with endless reading and learning, because it had felt natural. And it had helped, because facing this grief proved to be a muddled mess. 

He had died before her. He had been spared her death. He had lived as a computer program with Kal-El’s tutelage on his mind, not the death of his wife among so many others. Now he was blessed with a second life, this one without her. Now he had time to mourn. Not only was the pain sharp, but he couldn’t decide if he wished she were with him or was glad she had been spared Luthor and these agonizingly uncontrollable powers. He couldn’t decide if this new life should make him new in turn, if he should leave that behind him. The very notion felt callous. 

A voice reached his ear, and he snapped to attention. _Don’t sell me short so soon._ He knew that voice. He’d met very few women in this new life, so he was sure to recognize it. He stood unsteadily and tilted his head, trying to hear more, but none was said. 

He gazed upward then and focused to the point of sweat popping on his forehead, catching sight of Rebecca just as she stepped inside Luthor’s personal elevator. 

“No!” he shouted. “Luthor, damn you!” How had he found her? How had he known? His mind raced, remembering she’d told him her name in front of the paramedics. Had he paid them to tell? Tracked her down? Why had she come? What had he lured her with? 

He rammed the door with his shoulder, but it didn’t even budge. He was too weak to free himself, to help her. “Luthor, you bastard!” 

His back to the door, he slid and sat, raking his hands through his hair. It was a testament to the trial he’d been put through that he, Krypton’s leading scientist, had to remind himself to think. To calm down and assess. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes. He listened intently though they were high above him. He blocked out everything else. Rebecca was the song he wanted to hear. 

They were talking, back and forth. Not Rebecca. Luthor and the other woman, the redhead. About business. Was it a meeting? What did Rebecca have to do with that? He focused on her more finely then, and he could hear her heart hammering. Pounding like a drummer gone mad. She was terrified, and he restrained himself from having another fruitless fight with the door. 

They started talking about Luthor’s life, his past. He was being interviewed. He wasn’t going to lash out at her. He didn’t mention Rebecca at any point, didn’t speak to her at all. Luthor and the redhead were acting as if it was business as usual, but Rebecca was so afraid. He felt it. She knew something was wrong. 

The interview was moving out of the office and into the corridor. Luthor wanted to show them something. Knowing him, he wanted to boast, and whatever was worth boasting about was down the hall. 

_Oh, damn,_ Rebecca breathed. She sounded like a shaky breeze, full of trepidation. _My battery’s dying. Listen, let me change this out. I’ll catch up._

There was a moment of tension before Luthor gave this his blessing and left with the other woman. Jor-El was on his feet, staring up at the ceiling, penetrating floor after floor, urging his sight to reach her. 

* * * * *

As soon as they were out of both sight and earshot, Rebecca stopped fiddling with the camera and went to Luthor’s desk. Her hands shaking, she frantically tore through drawers. She leafed and peeked and picked up the camera to take shots she hoped weren’t too blurry. She had only learned how to use the camera that day, but their rescue attempt kind of depended on her not screwing up too badly. 

So many of Luthor’s papers were written in a jumbled mess. Not that his handwriting was bad. Rather that the words weren’t words. Other languages? She couldn’t tell. Languages she’d never heard of if that was the case. 

She let the camera drop on the strap around her neck, the drawer right in front of Luthor’s chair hanging open with her hand patting and shifting papers. She heard heels clack and saw a figure enter the doorway. A heavyset, dark-skinned woman watched her with an expression that was as blank as it was somehow sinister. 

“I was… looking for a pen,” Rebecca said with a nervous giggle. 

The woman crossed the room coolly, reached into the very obvious cup of pens atop the desk, and handed her one. Rebecca plucked it from her fingers with an uncertain smile. 

“First day on the job,” she told the woman. “I’m a little nervous.” 

She received no response to this. 

Rebecca went to her case, picked out a manual that probably shouldn’t be written in, and jotted a pretend note to herself. Then returned the pen, which the woman placed serenely back in the cup with its mates. 

“If you’ll follow me,” were the first words the woman spoke as she led Rebecca from the room. 

* * * * *

Jor-El could remember only one other time he’d wanted so badly to leap into action. It had been Zod’s coup. He’d been able then. He wasn’t now. And watching Luthor’s assistant drift closer to the room Rebecca was searching was a horror that made his heart skip. He was glad of how deftly she handled that, though he was sure now ramifications would come. 

All throughout this he asked himself, _what does Rebecca hope to find?_ Did she know about him? Was she trying to help him? Then a more sobering question: was it his fault she was here? Which would make it his fault should harm come to her. 

It was this thought that kept him riveted until she and the redhead were safely outside of the building. He could’ve turned away then, but there was no way he could be satisfied without knowing why they’d come. 

_Someone saw me,_ Rebecca said, and it was easier to see them on the ground floor again, not quite so much of a strain. She was scraping a hand through her dark hair and pacing before the redhead. _I think she was Luthor’s personal assistant. She totally caught me. I screwed up. I’m surprised he didn’t check the camera before we left. Lois, I’m sorry. I thought I was being quiet. Maybe she heard me._

_For starters, calm down,_ Lois said. _We got out with all our footage intact. We’re clear. Come on, walk with me. I don’t want to take the chance we aren’t clear._

_God, I feel like I’m going to shake myself apart._

_You’re good,_ Lois laughed. _That’ll wear off. Let’s get the footage back to The Planet._

He was straining to follow them into the city, where they grew faint and the general din was swallowing them. _It was so much gibberish on those pages. Can we get someone to translate it? Do you think any of this will help Jor-El?_

_It’s a start,_ Lois replied. 

_It might be our only chance…_

He lost them. He no longer cared. He was grinning. They were planning a rescue. 

* * * * *

“Sir?” Amanda entered Luthor’s office. “You let them go?” 

Luthor glanced up at her, then back at what he was working on. “I did.”

Amanda said nothing, but everything about her demanded an explanation. 

“Whatever they found cannot be deciphered.” He sounded bored. “And if deciphered would still make no sense to them. And if it made sense to them, I’d know before it went to print. If Lois Lane takes the wrong step, she knows she’s done. So she won’t do it. Are you hearing how unaffected I am? Take it to heart, Amanda.” 

“Yes, sir.” She left as quietly as she’d entered.


End file.
